The Ways Home
by Tidia
Summary: Stories featuring hurt d'Artagnan and comfort. Story 1) The aftermath of 1.10 2) d'Artagnan taken captive and the aftermath 3)d'Artagnan learning that sometimes there is no honor and the ramifications. 3) ABC The Cardinal finds a way to get revenge 4) Attention to detail, no one notices d'Artagnan is hurt 7) Singed Home involving a fire at the garrison
1. First Way Home

Title: The Ways to Home

By: tidia

Disclaimer: BBC owns the characterizations they have created of the Musketeers.

Spoilers: Yes 1.10

All mistakes my own- I did not read this over before I posted.

Notes: Why am I writing this much? Real life. Anyway, I believe I saw a prompt where d'Artagnan was hurt more by Athos than he let on so that is the first part and then I will explain the second part...

* * *

The First Way Home

The bullet cut through his side and no amount of preparation prepared him for the burning sensation that took his breath away or the force that made him stumble back. Thankfully, he was eased to the ground. Aramis, Porthos and Treville were with him, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but the shock and pain were making him feel spent.

In theory it had been a good plan. He was rethinking the musket fire.

When next he awoke he was in Milady's care with an ache that made him feel every stitch that had been placed. He had pushed beyond the pain though to complete the mission, no time to recover in order to save Constance.

As he walked back from the Bonacieux residence to the garrison every step was filled with pain. His heartbeat echoed in his side. He entered the garrison, not bothering to check on his friends who had a report to give to Treville, then were heading to a tavern.

D'Artagnan shut the door to his room, took off his boots and lay on top of the bed. He felt hot and cold, sad and angry all at once. He had lost Constance.

It was a fitful sleep. Turning in his sleep made his side flare in spiky pain that left his gasping, but at least woke him from his nightmares. All of them dying, Constance's throat being cut. He guess he should have been satisfied with them all being alive.

He lay in bed taking slow breaths to help the pain subside. It was enough to send him into a doze to wake up for the next day.

"We are to go to the palace," Athos reported to him before the roll.

"Are you well?"Aramis frowned in his scrutiny.

D'Artagnan wiped a hand down his face. "Fine."

Porthos put an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulder. "And Constance?"

"Her husband attempted suicide and out of loyalty she has decided to remain with him." He swallowed, telling them made it all too real.

He had stunned his friends at the unexpected turn of events. They had thought they would reconcile and she would give up her husband. He had thought the same.

"I am sorry." Athos nodded.

There was no time for any further discussion, and neither was there much to say about the matter as they witnessed the news of the queen. They waited for Aramis to return to them, d'Artagnan shifting on his horse as his side made itself known. Something passed between Aramis and Athos, but d'Artagnan allowed the moment to pass, too miserable as they continued to the garrison with a day's activities planned. D'Artagnan was looking forward to the evening's rest, which may have distracted as he dismounted his horse to find his knees buckling.

He caught himself on the saddle, but his strength was waning and he was going to crumple until Porthos grabbed him from behind, pulling on his injury causing him to gasp in the unexpected onslaught.

"d'Artagnan!" Porthos yelled into his ear, but it brought the others. "He was going to collapse."

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis ghosted his hands over d'Artagnan's uniform.

The young musketeer shook his head. It was the wound that Athos's had given him, and the older man would find it difficult that it was giving his protégé pain. "I was just caught off guard-" He tried to shake off Porthos's grip.

But Athos was too quick in his determination. "Check his side, Aramis. Where I shot him."

Aramis nodded, but showed sympathy that he did view the wound in the stable. "Upstairs."

It was a slow, halting trip up the flight of stairs to Aramis's room, but once settled on the bed all d'Artagnan wanted to do was sleep. His whole body ached, but he was forced to strip off his shirt which was a struggle as his arms filled with lethargy and then he was only limited to using one arm as lifting the other one caused him to fold in on himself.

Athos helped sort him out, although he did not meet d'Artagnan's eyes.

"Some of the stitching has ripped and it's infected." Aramis's hand went to his forehead. "You're fevered. Why didn't you say something?"

He closed his eyes to try to distance himself from the pain Aramis was causing as he probed the wound and his headache. "I did not notice and we've been busy with setting a trap, saving Constance. . ." he did not mention his broken heart.

"Drink this." Athos lifted his head and brought a cup to his lips of cognac. After he had savored the liquor, Athos placed his head gently on the pillow. "Rest."

"I am going to pick out the stitches," Aramis stated.

D'Artagnan drifted in a haze. He didn't know if he was awake or not, but he was warm, too warm and uncomfortable.

* * *

Athos was suffering along with his young brother with a high fever that was relentless. Aramis had resorted to attaching a dozen leeches near the wound. "Why is he so grave?"

Aramis shook his head. "I do not know." He removed the leeches, they had left their mark behind. Aramis licked his lips. "I requested a priest, Athos."

Athos stood up and Porthos got between the two men as Athos announced, "I will not allow it." Athos had caused the death of his friend. What was worse for a moment when his wife was in his arms, and he was pointing the musket at d'Artagnan he felt anger. He was angry at all the men who slept with his wife and wanted to restore his honor as the cuckold husband.

Aramis bent down to place his hand on d'Artagnan's forehead and the Gascon leaned into it. "You cannot deny it. He's a Catholic. It's his soul."

"Aramis, you're saying that all is lost." There was an emptiness in him that no amount of wine would fill if d'Artagnan died by his hand.

"No, I'm not." Aramis shook his head.

"Last Rites. . ." Athos started.

Aramis put a hand on Athos's shoulder- it was an offer of comfort. "Think of it as a blessing."

"We could all use it," Porthos commented, having been silent and stepping aside when he saw Athos calm. He took a seat by the edge of d'Artagnan's bed. "Just make him happy. d'Artagnan's going to be fine."

"Because of your close relationship with God?" Aramis asked, bemused for the first time in two days.

"Because I have faith." Porthos shrugged his shoulders.

They stood witness as the priest prayed and placed the oil on d'Artagnan. Porthos and Aramis left him alone, using they would bring some food upstairs. No one had an appetite.

"You foolish boy. This plan to put yourself in danger. And what about me? I shot you, d'Artagnan. I shot you and now you lay here." He gripped the boy's hand. "Do not do this to me. Do not."

He heard the sigh, and looked up to see that d'Artagnan's hair was drenched, and his face had lost the redness. Athos released the younger man's hand and brought a hand to feel the Gascon's forehead still marked by the sacred oil. It was cooler.

Athos choked back a sob, but couldn't stop the tears of relief. Porthos and Aramis returned and found him like this, rushing in believing the worse had happened.

Aramis frowned. "His fever broke." The frown morphed into a smile and pure glee. "His fever broke!"

"I told you he would be fine." Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder.

They did not leave Aramis's room though, waiting for d'Artagnan to fully wake. Athos was dozing in the chair by the bed, immensely uncomfortable, but unable to resist the exhaustion. He felt a hand on his knee.

"Athos?"

It was enough to bring Athos fully awake and see that d'Artagnan had shifted and was trying to sit up. Athos braced him with an arm, then placed the pillows behind the Gascon. "I'm tired."

He looked wane, but lucid and blessedly cool. "Go back to sleep," he whispered not wanting to wake the others so he could have a moment with d'Artagnan.

"Are you well?"

Athos pursed his lips and then smiled. His wife was still alive, hopefully far from France. He thought that had brought him peace, but it was the realization that he had gained another brother in his heart that brought him solace. "I am now. I never met to gravely hurt you. I never meant any ill will towards you."

d'Artagnan frowned. Athos would always feel guilty for shooting d'Artagnan to see the scar, he had told the young man as much, but d'Artagnan said any mark he would bear as penance for foolishness. "I know there is no malice in your heart. I know." He blinked slowly, opened his eyes once more. "If the worse ever happens then it was an honorable death. Don't take that away from me." d'Artagnan closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"To honor." Athos could honor these men as they honored him with their stalwart friendship.


	2. Second Way Home

Title: The Ways to Home

By: tidia

Disclaimer: BBC owns the characterizations they have created of the Musketeers.

Spoilers: Yes 1.10

All mistakes my own- I did not read this over before I posted.

Notes: Okay, I am indulging myself on this one because I have read some fics where d'Artagnan is hurt and then there is no comfort so I am remedying that for myself and figured I would share. I really need to pick on Athos next.

* * *

The Second Way Home

It took five days for them to find d'Artagnan in a stank, basement room hanging from the ceiling with his arms raised up, feet not touching the ground. He had flinched, then squinted as he opened his eyes in the light.

Porthos cut him down, while Athos held him so he would not crumple to the ground, trying not to grip too hard to cause more pain as Athos had seen the blood on his protégé.

"Can you carry him? There is a cart outside." Aramis asked put his hand along the side of the Gascon's face. "We need to tend to him elsewhere."

The floor was dirt and the room cold. Athos nodded, and started out the door and up the stairs. The cart was waiting. Aramis took off his cloak, placed it in the card and Athos lowered d'Artagnan gently upon it.

Porthos came holding a light over them. D'Artagnan had been left in his smalls- clothes, boots, cloak and sword gone more than likely sold, though they did not ask the culprits, who had wanted revenge on the musketeers. They had asked them d'Artagnan's location before bringing an end to their lives.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos asked while Aramis did a cursory examination. "I should not have been surprised that you would find trouble as soon as you became a musketeer." He hoped that the younger man would answer, but saw that his eyes were closed whether in sleep, unconsciousness or avoidance.

"It's not a good way to break in the cuff," Porthos added. They had retrieved that from the wrongdoers.

"They sliced him with a blade and whipped his back. There are some bruises, too." Aramis sat back on his haunches in the cart.

"We killed them too quickly." Porthos growled.

"Let's get him back to the garrison." Aramis remained inside the cart to keep d'Artagnan steady.

They made quick work getting through the Paris streets and taking d'Artagnan inside to set him on Aramis's table.

"Do you want to call a physician?" Athos asked. He would follow whatever Aramis suggested in order to bring d'Artagnan back whole.

"Not yet," Aramis answered. "I do need water."

"Already on its way," Porthos had two buckets of water, one steaming and the other not. They had done this too many times not to know what was needed.

"Help me to wash him so I can better look at the wounds." They each grabbed a cloth, carefully using the hot water to unveil each mark.

"He's going to need your stitch work," Porthos commented.

When Athos went to turn d'Artagnan on his back, the touch to his shoulder had d'Artagnan moaning. Athos raked a hand through the Gascon's hair. "Shhh, it's okay. You're safe. You're with us."

d'Artagnan's eyes blinked open. He stared at them for a moment as if taking in that they were real. "Water?"

Athos and Porthos helped him to sit up slowly, which resulted in a gasp. Aramis brought the water to his lips. He took tentative sips.

"My arms hurt," he mumbled after Aramis took the water away.

"They had you hanging from your arms. There will be soreness," Aramis said. "We need to clean your back, then get you stitched up." In the sitting up position there were minute shakes in d'Artagnan's frame.

The Gascon nodded, and Aramis worked quickly while the other two held him up, settling him back down with relief. Aramis was threading his needle.

"How long?" d'Artagnan whispered, and they all wished he would now fall unconscious. Many of the wounds were bleeding, which meant there would be much stitching.

"Four days," Athos pulled up a chair. "We're sorry we did not find you sooner."

D'Artagnan hissed as Aramis made the first stitch. Porthos grabbed his ankle and Athos his hand, not to hold him, but to ground him.

"You should have seen when we found them. One pissed his pants out of fear, and all Athos said was hello. I kid you not, lad."

"That is because they detained d'Artagnan from practicing his sword work."

"Aramis was the one who first noticed you were missing."

"That is because when d'Artagnan is sent out on an errand he does so in half of the allotted time, making his fellow musketeers seem lazy."

"You do have a tendency to dawdle."

They continued with the distracting banter that was punctuated by a huff of laughter, a gasp or moan from d'Artagnan, but he refused to submit to his exhaustion.

Porthos looked over at Aramis, they had placed d'Artagnan uncomfortably on his side because he had protested laying on his stomach. "Lad, we will stay with you. This isn't a dream. You're here with us."

"I was in the dark," d'Artagnan started haltingly. "I'll believe you in the morning."

Stitched, cleaned and weary they brought d'Artagnan to his room and placed him in his bed. The looked out towards the window, waiting for the break of dawn and with that d'Artagnan went to sleep. "Thank you."

When he woke in the night after a full day of sleep, Porthos, Aramis and Athos were waiting for him with more candles than were usual in his room.


	3. Third Way Home

Title: Ways Home: The Scars of Belonging

See Part 1 for disclaimer and the rest

Notes: I did not think I would continue on with this, but so many people are following it that I am continuing. I am working on a few stories, and will post as I go as long as I know where the stories are going.

* * *

"Please cease your withering looks, d'Artagnan. They are ineffective," Athos said from atop his horse just a few strides ahead.

They had been sent on a mission to find a man that was spreading rumors and sedition, finding him with his family and not in hiding. d'Artagnan did not agree with the methods Athos had used to ensure the man's silence. "You humiliated that man in front of his family."

In front of his family Athos took the man to task with swords. With a thwack and a shove, Athos relentlessly set the man to the floor over twenty times with various cuts from his sword and bruises until finally the man begged for mercy. It was his family that bothered d'Artagnan, his wife and daughter crying and his son biting his lip as his father was abused, the beaten man could not meet their eyes.

"It was the king's business and I followed my orders." Athos's visage was focused ahead. "It is no more than you receive when we train."

d'Artagnan urged his horse forward to match Athos. "You seek to humiliate me?"

Athos turned and gave a measured, "No."

The younger man was appeased; feeling the simple answer from his mentor was enough. D'Artagnan never felt humiliated. Still, he was a musketeer and the other man had no such training. "You were arrogant."

"You're too soft hearted," Athos retorted. D'Artagnan could sense Athos's patience was waning. "What do you believe the Red Guards would have done? Cut out his tongue, burned down his home, tortured his children or wife?"

It was known the Red Guards were not as civil or honorable. They would have done worse.

Athos's face was grim. "I took an ounce of pride to stop him from spreading sedition, and I have to hope that is enough or else it will go worse for him."

It was true that if the man continued then he would be killed and Athos would be reprimanded for not handling the situation properly. "I understand."

Athos shifted in his saddle. "d'Artagnan, I hope that you never get blood on your hands, but in this business it is inevitable." Athos sped up again, putting some distance between them.

They remained silent as the maneuvered the streets of Paris towards the garrison.

"You have returned," Aramis greeted them as did Porthos.

Athos acted as usual and d'Artagnan followed his lead, learning that to be a good musketeer required him to be accustomed to much more than swordfight and gunplay.

(())

Leon Allaire was aware that Marie was the woman of a musketeer, but she kept glancing in his direction and her actions emboldened him. He placed his hands on her, kissed her, although she scrunched her face and tried to push him away.

He was holding her tight against him so she would stop her struggling. He did not notice the musketeers entering until he was physically pulled away from the lovely Marie and rendered unconscious by the butt of a musket.

When he awoke he was tied to a chair surrounded by three musketeers waiting for him to wake up. He got backhanded as soon as he opened his eyes.

"Red Guard scum. Marie is a Musketeer's woman."

Leon was struck again. He tried to make out their faces, but they were hidden under masks. "Release me!"

When the musketeers untied him he thought they were going to send him on his way. Instead they re-secured his arms behind him and brought him to a vat of water. They forced his head into the water, holding him down while he struggled.

They repeated the action again. When they allowed him up he was light headed and sputtering. He relished taking in a few wet breaths, coughing along with it. Leon did not know where they were, but a door opened to the room, momentarily illuminating an alley outside. "What is going on here?"

There was only one candle in the corner throwing shadows, but the new arrival was not wearing a mask and Leon was looking for a moment when he could make out the man.

"We are teaching this Red Guard fool that he should stay away from what belongs to the Musketeers." The musketeer forced Leon's head under the water, but this time it was for a short time, not enough to incite the Red Guard's panic.

Leon vowed he would not look at another woman for a year, at least any that were with the musketeer vermin.

"You're drowning him?" The unmasked musketeer asked.

"We are punishing him, getting justice. Are you helping your brothers? You can stand guard." One of the original three suggested.

There was a long pause, but Leon relished the break from being attacked. "I rather wish to be on my way while you go about your business."

The fourth man was detained by one of the masked men. "d'Artagnan, this remains amongst us."

Leon smiled and held onto that name. Someone would pay for this as soon as he was free he would go to the Cardinal for his revenge. The Cardinal said he would reward anyone who could show Musketeer treachery.

(())

D'Artagnan wiped a hand down his face as he closed the door, returning to the Paris streets, trying to erase what he had witnessed. It was happenchance that he walked in upon the musketeers, having heard an odd noise and deciding to investigate.

He did not think he would find Edmund, Arc and Bastian drowning a Red Guard. D'Artagnan had no love for the Cardinal's men, but at least there was honor in a swordfight or hand to hand combat. It was expected. Torture was used only to find information, and most of what d'Artagnan has witnessed were threats.

Lost in his thought, but aiming for a tavern, he found one and ordered a drink. He turned and saw Aramis in the corner, a woman draped on his lap. D'Artagnan caught his friend's eye before he approached.

The blonde woman had a revealing ample bosom, along with the confidence Aramis liked in women. Aramis nuzzled her neck. "My dear, can we have a moment?"

She laughed and graced d'Artagnan with a smile before removing herself from Aramis's legs. He gave her an affectionate swat, then directed his attention to d'Artagnan. "What's amiss?"

D'Artagnan drank his wine before answering as he searched for the words to use. He had made a promise to the others, but this was also a fellow musketeer. "I interrupted some other musketeers that were less than honorable in their actions."

Aramis studied him intensely for a moment as if he was reading d'Artagnan's soul. "Is this why there is a chill between you and Athos?"

He thought he had hid it better, and was not treating Athos any differently. Yet, that was not true if Aramis could see a difference.

Aramis looked down at his hands. "You know that there are times that there are orders that you must follow that may be distasteful."

D'Artagnan nodded, kicking himself for bringing up memories of Savoy that tortured his friend. Captain Treville had not been immune to the king's whims and need to save his orders to save the king's sister. D'Artagnan had not been placed in that position, but knew one day it would happen for him to live with the guilt. "It is hard to see the honor at times."

Aramis played with his hat which also rested on the table, avoiding d'Artagnan's eyes. "You are sitting in judgment. No one wants to be judged by the lofty eyes of another." He looked up with a smile. "Remember your brothers would die for you, defend you, and keep your secrets."

He had been a witness to their generosity and honor even as he had acted rash. He had tossed a dagger at Athos's back when they met. "A fair exchange." D'Artagnan raised his glass, emptying it.

Aramis gestured for the woman to return. She came with a tankard and another woman following her. "She bears gifts."

The pretty blonde sat next to d'Artagnan, placing a welcoming hand on his leg. Aramis set his conscience at ease, and d'Artagnan set out to enjoy himself to forget what he had seen earlier.

TBC


	4. Third Way Home Part B

Ways Home Part 3b

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: see part 1

Notes: Thank you so much for the reviews, following, favorites. I hope I have reached out to everyone who has reached out to me. I hope you continue to enjoy this story and there should be one more part. I am sure I have forgotten to thank someone, so please forgive me.

* * *

d'Artagnan was watching Porthos and Athos spar, taking in their different styles and seeking their weaknesses until the grumbling in the yard caught his attention as ten Red Guards entered the garrison yard. Two came towards him; he stood to greet them with his hand resting on his sword as Aramis came shoulder to shoulder with him.

"You are under arrest."

"For what?" d'Artagnan looked at his friends in confusion.

"For the murder of Leon Allaire. He was one of us."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I don't know him."

Treville came down the stairs, accepting the papers he was handed with the Cardinal's seal. "Go with them, d'Artagnan until we sort this out."

They watched as d'Artagnan was led out of the garrison, then followed Treville to his office. Treville passed the papers to Athos. "The dead guard said d'Artagnan's name on his deathbed."

"That is the only evidence against him?" Athos passed the paper to Porthos.

"Is it at all possible that d'Artagnan could have been involved?" Treville asked. "I know you men and the Red Guards. . ."

Aramis cleared his throat. "He was with me late into the evening with two fine women."

Porthos patted Aramis on the back. "Will that be enough to release him?"

Treville did not have a chance to answer the question before three other musketeers entered. Athos nodded at Edmund ,Arc, and Bastian.

"Why are you interrupting?" Treville scolded.

"We just learned that d'Artagnan was taken to the Chatelet for the death of Leon Allaire. When we left him he was very much alive." Edmund explained, glancing at his two friends for confirmation.

"I do not understand." Treville sat back in his chair. "What have you to do with this matter?"

"This happened two nights ago?" Aramis asked, receiving a frown in response from Athos who wanted more information.

"Yes," Bastian stepped forward. "Leon had taken liberties with my woman and we sought to make sure it did not happen again. On my honor we punished him and sent him on his way."

"And d'Artagnan's involvement?" Athos asked. "Was he there as an accomplice?"

Edmund sighed. "He found us, but wanted no part of it, but I may have accidently used his name when I asked for his discretion."

"You should have killed Allaire or done nothing." Athos growled, disgusted in the men before him and finding it difficult for the insult to pass. "d'Artagnan will not pay the price for this."

"This isn't helping d'Artagnan. I'm thinking Leon probably went to a tavern to lick his wounds," Porthos supplied. "It's what a stupid Red Guard would do."

"We need to find out what happened to him, and in the meantime you three will go with me to the palace to secure d'Artagnan's release." Treville gestured to Edmund, Arc and Bastien.

"We apologize." They bowed to Athos, Porthos and Aramis. It was well known in the garrison that d'Artagnan was under their protection and tutelage. Edmund continued, "We will accept any punishment, but it is not for d'Artagnan to bear. He was not involved and tried to dissuade us from our endeavors."

Athos could do no more; instead they had to find out how Leon died. They started in the area that they were told he was last seen alive, going to the taverns in the area until someone recognized the description of Leon.

"He was here, boasting about how the Musketeers weren't brave enough to kill him." The barkeep said as he served a midday patron.

It was slow going to find a person that last saw Leon alive, but Aramis's ways with women along with Porthos's direct nature led to the Cardinal's witness.

A small man wearing a stocking hat seemed happy enough to tell them his story as he picked at his face. "Came out of there not able to put one foot in front of the other, then went up those stairs and fell."

The man pointed to stairs that led to another tavern a few doors away.

"He fell?" Aramis pressed and received an enthusiastic nod.

"There was lots of blood, and I thought if I brought him back to the Red Guards that I would get a reward. Kept saying d'Artagnan, d'Artagnan. Didn't get too far before he stopped mumbling and died." The man shrugged his shoulders as if drunken deaths were a common occurrence.

Porthos jingled his money pouch. "Did the Cardinal's men pay you?"

"Some, but it should have been more." The witness was thankfully an opportunist.

Athos felt some relief that at least they could prove that d'Artagnan did not cause Leon's death. He hoped that Treville would be able to have the other charges shifted to the rightful musketeers. "We need you to come with us and promise you a reward, too."

((()))

D'Artagnan calmed when he was taken to the palace to appear before the King and saw Treville, Athos, Aramis and Porthos. He was surprised to see Edmund, Arc and Bastian, but knew that meant that the truth was going to be revealed. His brothers would not fail him.

His time at the Chatelet had been less than pleasant. He was glad he would not be spending the night under the watchful eyes of the Red Guards looking for revenge for the death of their comrade.

d'Artagnan sported bruises on his torso, hidden by his clothes as the guards were careful not to have any outward signs show on his face. He shifted uncomfortably as he heard Treville give his report about the witness seeing Leon alive.

"It was an accident with d'Artagnan not involved, Your Majesty," Treville concluded. "d'Artagnan should be set free."

The Cardinal's eyes shined. He wanted revenge and his opportunity to strike was at hand. "It may have been an accident, but you heard that musketeers precipitated violence against one of my guardsmen."

"The matter was one involving a woman." Treville gestured for Edmund, Bastian and Arc to step forward in their musketeer finery. "These three accept blame, while d'Artagnan is blameless. They are willing to be punished as your majesty sees fit."

The Cardinal did not allow the king to answer. Edmund, Bastian and Arc were not the three musketeers he wanted to blame. "Leon Allaire did not name them. He only named d'Artagnan so he should be punished."

Treville gave a slight shake of his head. "Cardinal, you have heard that d'Artagnan is innocent and your guardsman was addled by drink."

"The name given was d'Artagnan," the Cardinal repeated. "How do I know that these men are not embracing all for one and one for all?" He made it sound like a curse, not the words that stirred the hearts of the Musketeers. "The blame belongs and remains with d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan could tell the king was bored with these events. "Very well, Cardinal what is your request?"

The Cardinal seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "One hundred lashes. It was a most egregious crime." The audience gasped in response while d'Artagnan tried to school his own expression.

Treville raised his voice. "Sire, the Red Guard died not as a result of their actions, but his own. This is too much."

"Cardinal, this is one of my most recent Musketeers…" The king prompted.

"I will accept forty lashes as an example that there should be no further fighting between those that defend France."

"Forty lashes it is to be carried out tomorrow. D'Artagnan is freed from the charge of murder," the king announced.

D'Artagnan was in shock with a silence that enveloped him. He thought he bowed, but he heard Treville's answer as if it were in the distance.

"Very well. Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness."

((()))

The Red Guards took off the chains once the royal couple left the room. The Cardinal gave Treville a smug smile and ignored the others as he swept through, his black cape fluttering sharp like a wing.

D'Artagnan remained rooted in place, confused on how to take a step and to where. Athos, Porthos and Aramis came to his side as a presence, but did not speak. They were waiting for him.

Edmund, Arc and Bastian bowed to him. Bastian, with his hair tied back, hat removed from his head spoke, "d'Artagnan, we are sorry and ask for your forgiveness."

D'Artagnan shook his head. He could not face the three musketeers that caused him to be placed in the crossfire of a whip. He turned to face Athos. "If you tell me that they are my brothers, and that I have to forgive them, then I will not be able to control myself because I would be glad to have their blood on my hands."

"No," Athos said.

Porthos put his arms out wide to push the three troublemakers away from d'Artagnan. They knew enough to walk away. Athos, Aramis and Porthos waited until the other three had left the room before following behind them to go to the garrison.

They were almost outside when the Queen's maid detained them. "The Queen requests the company of d'Artagnan. She has said his friends may join him."

They were directed to an antechamber of the throne room. There the Queen was seated, a hand rested on her growing stomach. She was given more power over her husband with her pregnancy. The King would defer to her or ask her opinion with a glowing smile.

They bowed in her presence. Her ladies in waiting stood behind her.

She addressed d'Artagnan. "I understand that your lands were destroyed." D'Artagnan nodded. "Those shall be restored to you free from taxes while you serve the King. You will be allowed to collect your rents."

"Thank you Your Majesty." He bowed again at the unexpected news. Lupiac was a sore in his heart as he thought about his home being a burned out shell.

The Queen was quiet for a moment seeking words that would not give away the truth. "I wish there was more in regards to your punishment that I could change. The Cardinal sees only one direction. You must know the King values your loyalty, appreciates your service, and those of the other musketeers in defending him."

"Thank you, Your Majesty for your kindness." Aramis said, his head still up, never fully gesticulating.

They were outside when they were allowed to speak freely. Aramis mounted his horse. "The Cardinal gets his revenge for our actions."

"He is not one to be contrite and humble," Athos added.

A wave of anger rose up in d'Artagnan. These men would not be affected; he was the one that would fill the sting of a whip against his skin. "Flogging. It's humiliating, but it's only some of my pride. Isn't that right, Athos?"

Athos did not reply, instead he kept his horse still.

D'Artagnan continued spewing, unable to control his tongue. "Don't get involved, don't judge and trust my brothers. . ."

"That sounds like Aramis," Porthos commented, but a glance from d'Artagnan had him frowning. "I don't know if I like him angry at me."

It was enough that d'Artagnan came to his senses. The anger was displaced. "That was poor of me." He patted his horse to calm his discomfort.

"No need for apologies," Aramis answered. "Shall we return to the garrison or to a tavern? I believe that Treville would understand under the circumstances the need for the tavern."

"I would like to avoid them setting up the staging," Aramis added, his horse stepping forward, but then had the good sense to bow his head in apology of his callousness.

"First round is on you," Porthos said, reaching over to give d'Artagnan a pat on the back. "We'll get you drunk enough to feel nothing."

(())

There was not enough wine because the next morning d'Artagnan awoke to see his friends were in his room also asleep. He stood up, attempting to be quiet to look out the window. He had seen it when they had stumbled into the garrison, the place where he would be whipped. The others tried to distract him, Porthos having to physically pull him away and push him up the stairs to his room.

"Do you wish for food or drink?" Athos asked. The others were stirring behind him so he drew himself away from the window.

His stomach was already churning with nausea. "I do not believe I can eat."

Porthos handed him a half empty bottle that was near his makeshift bed. "Drink."

"Better to be flogged in a stupor." Aramis stretched like a cat as he awoke, then patted down his hair.

"Is this advice from personal experience?" d'Artagnan jested, but it had more bite than he intended. He returned to sitting on his bed to slip on his boots not recalling taking them off before going to bed, which meant one of the other man had done it. They were watching over him. He jumped at the soft knock at the door, but did not make a move to answer it.

Porthos opened the door in a huff of annoyance at the disturbance. There was no conversation, and he closed the door. "Edmund, Arc and Bastian want to talk to you. I can get rid of them for you."

Although it was tempting to have Porthos take a pound of their flesh, d'Artagnan had been told that the rest of the garrison was providing them no quarter. The Gascon glanced to Athos to realize the charade of avoidance would not be wise. "Allow them in."

Porthos opened the door, but the three musketeers only stepped in past the threshold. The door remained ajar. "We've told Treville that we wished to be flogged beside you, but he said that it would be your decision."

D'Artagnan rubbed a hand down his face, then turned to Porthos, Aramis and Athos for assistance. Athos was distant as if was removing himself from the matter, Aramis seemed to be considering it while Porthos was agreeing with the suggestion.

"No. I do not want the Cardinal to have that much satisfaction." The Red Guards would be filing in shortly for the spectacle. Athos gave him a pat on the back.

The three musketeers did not put up any resistance, but were dejected. They wanted to atone. D'Artagnan could not find a way for them to do so, would take time to even allow it after he had been whipped.

Porthos gestured for them to leave. Treville was calling for the Musketeers to assemble.

D'Artagnan pulled off his shirt, having left his cloak, jacket and pauldron in his room. He passed it to Aramis for safekeeping.

"You are bruised. Are those from the Red Guards?" Aramis ghosted over the marks on d'Artagnan's torso.

"I'll kill them." Porthos vowed, only being restrained by Athos.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It does not matter. Not now." They did not bother him as much as what he would be facing. As he stepped out he could see the sea of blue capes, usually so stirring, but this time he wanted to erase the scene from his memory as the Musketeers stood side by side with the Red Guards. Blue and red clashed.

d'Artagnan took the steps to the center of the garrison alone. He felt his three friends following him, their eyes upon him. However, they could only stand as witnesses.

He had lost the innocence of Lupiac, gained a new understanding that honor among soldiers was fluid. Good musketeers were cocky and arrogant, They had ruthlessness, which he had seen in himself that spilled into recklessness with repercussions. There was a lesson for him, but it would carry a bitterness for a while.

He put his hands in front of him and got into place, seeing as he was going to be tied to the post with his hands above him looped through a hook. The punisher tapped at his feet, which were tied to the post. It would not be wise to have his body moving while being lashed.

The decree was read by the Cardinal in a loud voice filled with pride. D'Artagnan ignored it in order to prepare. He willed himself to not call out. The first lash burned as did the next few until his mind could not register the pain any longer. Twenty other lashes and the deliverer switched to the other side. The break refreshed the pain once more, settling into numbness.

D'Artagnan felt himself going weak, using the pole to hold him up while his arms hung. His focus was the sound; the whish as the flogger was pulled back then went through the air before striking. Mercifully, the sound stopped.

It was not the man who had been punishing his body that cut him down. Athos took his sword to the loop holding his hands on the hook while Aramis was at his feet. Porthos had his flank, holding him up as his legs fully took their weight.

The Gascon felt himself falter, but Porthos kept him standing.

"It is an ounce of pride that they took,"d'Artagnan mumbled past the dryness in his throat and the taste of iron on his lips. He had bit his tongue to keep his silence at one point.

"Nothing was taken," Athos said quietly close to his ear. "You showed courage and honor. Did you not hear the musketeers?"

D'Artagnan shook his head, he had not heard anything, but when he looked up he saw that the musketeers had formed a line, an honor guard, which protected him from the eyes of the Red Guards.

"They roared for you, never heard anything like it," Porthos said with a nod of pride.

"Did I call out?" If he hadn't heard the musketeers, then what if he had yelled without noticing?

"No." Aramis rubbed the back of his head.

D'Artagnan took steps slowly, feeling his friends surrounding him. "Help me, but do not carry me." He could collapse in private, but not here in front of the Musketeers, Red Guards or the Cardinal. There could be no weakness.

TBC


	5. Third Way Home Part C

Third Way Home: Last Part

By: tidia

Notes: I hope I have reached out and thanked everyone. It is amazing to have other fandom writers that I love comment and the good suggestions I get from readers! Thank you and shout outs to- Richefic, Rhesa (Paris, Texas is coming!), immie8, AZ Girl (Your idea is in here and love poisoned d'Art), Phantom Dragon (have notes on the story we discussed), Tinkerbella7, Candycakes, kyuubecky, bearsrawesome, Rauldehadleyfraser (werewolves my new obsession!). On to some comfort and still hurt..lol

* * *

Athos should not have been impressed by d'Artagnan's determination. It was expected. The same expectation he had of Porthos and Aramis, too. Still, d'Artagnan was a new Musketeer and his brothers should have taken better care. Young musketeers paid for their mistakes, but not for the mistakes of others. That came later when they were entwined within the brotherhood.

d'Artagnan faltered once they closed the door. Athos gave the signal for Porthos to carry him to the bed.

"I think I may be sick." d'Artagnan announced with a groan.

Aramis put the chamber pot on his lap. The Gascon heaved, expelled what seemed to be some of last night's drink, then spat.

"Drink," Aramis placed a cup in d'Artagnan's hand, guided it to his mouth. d'Artagnan winced at the taste, but continued to finish the drink under Aramis's watchful eyes.

Aramis gave a silent command, Athos complying by guiding d'Artagnan to lay on his stomach. His hair was sweat soaked.

There was a knock at the door, which Porthos answered bringing in two buckets of water before retrieving a pot of steaming water that had been left at the door. They were given privacy to tend to d'Artagnan.

Athos took one of the buckets and a cloth to wipe down d'Artagnan's hair, then settled the cloth on the younger man's neck.

Aramis used the warm water to clean the injured man's back with him wincing and gasping as the cloth swirled red. "I'm trying to be gentle."

"The bleeding's not stopping," Porthos commented. Athos growled at him, but Porthos was nonplussed. "What do you need?"

Aramis ran his hands through his hair, having discarded his hat as soon as he entered d'Artagnan's room. "I cannot stich this- the skin is shredded."

"Can you stop the bleeding?" Athos was trying to get his friend to focus. Aramis was brilliant, but the sight of d'Artagnan's back was overwhelming, mottled, peeled skin that was more akin to raw meat.

"Honey and salt. It will protect it while it heals, close the wounds and prevent infection. It won't be pleasant." Aramis looked towards d'Artagnan. "And you cannot move until the wounds stop bleeding."

d'Artagnan turned his head. "I trust you."

"Honey and salt," Athos said. Porthos moved out the door before being asked.

The paste was sticky and difficult to initially apply. d'Artagnan cushioned his head on his bent elbows. He tried to shift away from the mixture, but soft words and restricting hands limited his movements.

Eventually, d'Artagnan fell into a fitful doze, his back slick and uncovered, showing the lash marks. There would be scars, but hopefully no infection.

Aramis gestured they converse away from the bed. "He's already warm with fever, but I believe it's his body's way of dealing with trauma. He needs to give that time to knit. We can't have him moving around."

Porthos crossed his arms. "We can take turns watching him during the night, but it's not going to be easy to keep the lad here like this."

"Should be a few days, I hope. It's cruel, though, like extending the punishment." Aramis sighed.

The intention was to have Porthos stay with d'Artagnan the first night, but none of them showed interest of leaving the younger man's side. They played cards to pass the time, tried to keep d'Artagnan cool and relaxed in slumber.

When he did wake in the late hours he tried to push himself up, uncomfortable on his stomach, feeling hot with his back on fire.

Athos heard the rustling, and when he moved from his chair the sound had Aramis and Porthos alert. Athos placed a hand on the Gascon's too warm head. "Shhh, you were injured. You have to stay put."

"I wasn't injured. I was whipped." D'Artagnan snorted. "Can you help me at least get to my side a little bit?"

Aramis nodded.

Porthos helped the wounded young man move to his side, sitting on the bed so that d'Artagnan could lean against him. "Aramis can help you create a tale about how you were saving some fine woman and got hurt. How else can you explain his success?"

"Surely, not his comely looks." Athos deadpanned.

"Ah, the sound of jealousy," Aramis replied. "Drink this. It will help with the fever." He had a cup of wine that he had infused with herbs waiting for the young man to wake.

d'Artagnan grimaced at the taste, but drank it all the same. "This isn't what I thought being a musketeer would be like."

Athos cleared his throat. "Your friendship with us brought you some unwanted notice."

d'Artagnan raised a brow. "And yet you keep saying that I am the one that finds trouble?"

"You do," Porthos answered. "It's what makes you a good musketeer."

"I don't know if that makes me a good musketeer or a stupid one. I did get involved with Milady and this mess. . ." D'Artagnan pushed his hair away as it fell forward, then rubbed his eyes.

Athos bent down, not liking the defeatist tone. "Circumstances which you handled well, like a _great_ musketeer."

"With the help of your fine friends, who also happen to be great musketeers," Aramis added, which had d'Artagnan giving a small grin even as his eyes closed.

Porthos slowly set d'Artagnan back on his stomach when the young man did not resist. Within moments he was asleep once more.

(())

Athos had to agree with Porthos's prediction; keeping d'Artagnan put would be an issue. The fever lasted into the next day, soon after d'Artagnan was feeling better, but some of the wounds were still weeping. He had to remain on his stomach or supported on his side. Athos brought him books, which were browsed then discarded, carefully placed on the floor in a pile by d'Artagnan's head so he could access them on a whim.

Standing up for limited time proved Aramis's point, the lashes would open, seep, leaving d'Artagnan frustrated and back in bed.

"You have to give them time to seal. They already look better, but they are still raw." Aramis applied more of the honey and salt to encourage the marks to knit.

He had removed any looking glasses from d'Artagnan's room, since he did not want the young man to view his back or ask to see it. It was stomach turning, still looking like someone had tried to skin him, but at least the skin was more pink than red. Touching the wounds caused d'Artagnan to hiss and flinch. The salt stung on the exposed skin.

"As a child when you were ill were you this belligerent?"

d'Artagnan huffed. "I was not sickly. On the rare occasions I remember sleeping, eating a little and drinking this vile brew. . ."

Aramis smiled, wiping his hands on a damp cloth. "A sleeping draught?"

Athos's mouth quirked up. "It was effective."

d'Artagnan tried to raise himself up, but fell back as Athos placed a hand on the top of his shoulder. "No. Wait, I can't believe it. My own father. . ."

"I can see why." Aramis was unable to hide his mirth, chortling. He wiped tears from his eyes. "The one I gave you was just for the pain and fever, but do try to be a better patient."

It was Porthos who had the brilliant idea to enlist the musketeers to help their brother as he convalesced. This brought in the visits from any musketeer available at all hours. d'Artagnan was a captive and willing audience to listen to the stories the men brought to his bedside. For d'Artagnan he was learning more about the other musketeers, their ways, personalities, idiosyncrasies, experiences and mistakes. The young Gascon was one of them, part of their brotherhood. There was a reminder for the other musketeers too, on upholding their code.

Finally, Aramis was satisfied that d'Artagnan could have limited movement, nothing that would stretch and pull the healing marks, but he could at least move around the garrison with a shirt covering his mending back, anything else would irritate the skin. The pauldron, his jacket would have to wait. There would be no sword fighting for a little while longer.

Aramis passed d'Artagnan the shirt as he sat on the bed. d'Artagnan took it in his hand, turning it over. "How bad is it?"

The medic decided to ignore the young man, humming and tiding up the room instead.

"Aramis, I would like to see," d'Artagnan tried again.

He stopped humming. Aramis sighed. The Gascon's back was originally smooth with no marring, but now it would be unrecognizable and monstrous. "Wait a little longer."

"Please."

Aramis shook his head, but acquiesced. "Stay here." He had placed the looking glasses in his room, carried them back with a heavy heart. Aramis silently placed one in d'Artagnan's hands and positioned himself behind the young man. "Remember, it is still healing."

The Gascon thinned his lips as he studied his back, his face schooled to blankness. "It's not what I expected." He put the glass down on the bed.

"There was no way to warn you." Aramis took a seat next to the younger man.

d'Artagnan worked the shirt over his arms and Aramis helped pull it down over his back, placing his hand on the back of the young musketeer's neck. "They will fade."

((()))

d'Artagnan sat at the table, cleaning some of the muskets. He squinted as Athos, Porthos and Aramis took a seat next to him. They had duty at the palace.

"Edmund, Bastian and Arc?" d'Artagnan looked as though he had been saving the question, waiting for them to arrive. "I have not seen them."

"Their mission takes them to the mountains for the next few months," Athos replied. Treville had made the arrangements and the trio had not disagreed, gone willingly.

"At least," Aramis added.

"Punishment." Porthos grinned.

"Of a sort." Athos thought that they deserved to be stripped of their commission, but Treville thought that loss would be a win for the Cardinal. The Captain, as usual, had made a measured decision. "They will return wiser for it."

d'Artagnan moved in closer to the other three. "It's the Cardinal that deserves to be punished." He put down the musket as his back flared when it rippled it in anger. He would bear scars because of the despicable nature of the minister of France.

"The King has been embarrassing him, make asides about the loyalty of his Musketeers. He knows how the men reacted to your flogging," Aramis explained.

"Keeps mentioning you as his favorite." Athos drawled. He didn't know if it was good or bad that d'Artagnan was in receipt of the king's favor. d'Artagnan had already made a powerful enemy in the Cardinal and more could follow, but Athos, Porthos and Aramis had vowed again to protect him as they watched him be flogged.

"Makes me wonder how he treats those who are not his favorite?" Porthos asked, knocking on the table.

"It's not enough, though, is it?"d'Artagnan asked, but wasn't expecting an answer. He had heard the stories from the other musketeers, the sacrifices made to secure the safety of the royals. d'Artagnan was willing, not to just to defend the King and Queen, the heir, too, but to have the privilege to stand with his fellow Musketeers through it all. "But, it is because of this." d'Artagnan waved his hand to gesture to the garrison.

"For the brotherhood." Athos's hand moved closer to d'Artagnan's. "It's saved lives." Athos glanced towards Porthos and Aramis. They needed the musketeers, like Athos and d'Artagnan. "It will not fail you in the future."

d'Artagnan believed the oath, carried the scars of it.

The end, but I will be adding to Ways Home in general :)


	6. Attention To Detail

Attention to Detail

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six (although I did add a touch more so those mistakes, all me)

Disclaimer in regards to BBC Musketeers

Notes: This came to me and I wanted to be amused. I hope it is enjoyed with a smile. Yes, hurt d'Artagnan.

* * *

d'Artagnan pulled his sword from one of the bandits who attacked them. He kept his blade raised to look for another attacker, but he only saw his friends standing. Porthos knocked out one of the culprits with his fists while Aramis wiped his blade, finished with his raider. Athos had his arm around the one d'Artagnan believed was the leader.

d'Artagnan's hand went under his jacket, feeling the damp spot. He walked towards where Athos had pinned the leader to a tree, sword at his throat.

"Athos—" d'Artagnan started, an ache beginning to emerge from his wound. He did not have a chance to discuss the injury.

"Get the horses, then help Porthos," Athos ordered without a second look back. It had been a long mission with more aggravation than expected. Their tempers were becoming short. An unexpected attack did not help the situation. "Aramis, help me tie him up."

"I—"

"Now, d'Artagnan." Athos seemed focused on the area now filled with bandits either dead or injured. "This will already be a costly delay."

The young man understood the schedule, the importance of the missives from the Duchy of Milan they were returning to Paris. He did not want to burden his friend. The injury could not be too bad if he was able to stand and function. Much was expected of a musketeer.

d'Artagnan gathered their horses that had moved away during the skirmish and a few belonging to the brigands, which would carry the bodies and injured. He walked slowly over the grass, holding the reins of some of the horses while corralling the others to follow to where Porthos checked on the bodies.

"You got the horses." He took the reins, tying them to a nearby tree dropping green leaves slowly to the earth. "We're going to have to tie them to their horses."

There were seven bodies. d'Artagnan could feel his heartbeat in the slice in his side. His hand returned to it; liquid greeted him. "Porthos, I don't think—"

Porthos bent over the body of the robber. "Take his feet. The two of us will make quick work of this."

d'Artagnan sighed. To be a musketeer would require strength and perseverance. His Gascon stubbornness would help him put this aside until there was a proper moment. He suppressed a groan as he took hold of the thief's feet, then assisted in hoisting the body on the horse.

When they were finished, d'Artagnan wiped the sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool day. He wanted to sit but kept up with Porthos, albeit with a bit of a hitch in his step as the top of his trousers rubbed against the injury. They went to where Aramis and Athos were interrogating the leader, a wiry, long bearded man who had his mouth firmly clenched.

"You led them to their deaths. What for? How many people have you attacked and robbed?" Athos asked with a sword tip to the bandit's neck held steady.

"Word will get around, and no one will follow you," Aramis added to the man tied to the tree without the ability to move. "You'll need to find a different line of work, although you'll probably be hanged."

The man's eyes darted from Porthos to d'Artagnan before lowering to the wound. This was the man who had given d'Artagnan the cut when the thieves first attacked. "These are your friends?"

The leader noticed his wound had not been tended. At least it could be used for their benefit, and maybe then he could rest, have his injury tended.

d'Artagnan stepped closer to the captured man. "Yes, and they care about me, so can you imagine what they do to vermin like you? I would talk." He moved Athos's blade so it drew blood. "I'll get them started."

Aramis pulled d'Artagnan away with a frown. d'Artagnan figured this would be the moment when he could get medical attention. "Aramis, I'm—"

"Fine. I'll talk," the leader said and informed them how he and his friends had taken up robbing unsuspecting passersby over the last few months. He shared with them the location of the remaining items they had looted, plus the graves of the deceased. They thought the musketeers would have a secret stash of gold upon them.

"That was well done." Aramis gave d'Artagnan a slap on the back, which flared the Gascon's injury as it reverberated through him. The young man took in a deep breath to steady himself. He was about to reach out to Aramis, grabbed him by his sleeve, but Athos caught his attention again.

"d'Artagnan, tie him to a horse as well." Athos bent to release the leader from the tree.

The younger man swallowed as blackness started encroaching on his periphery. He blinked it away at first, but he was unable to hold it back. "I really. . . " d'Artagnan tried to find something to lean against to keep him upright, but instead he got to one knee with a hand on his still-bleeding side.

"Are you going to tie his feet?" Athos asked, throwing some of the cut rope towards d'Artagnan.

He did not mean to get angry, but this obliviousness had caused him to reach his limit. d'Artagnan lifted his hand to show the blood on his glove. "I'm bleeding."

"Oi!" Porthos called out, coming to his side. "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

d'Artagnan pushed at Porthos weakly in aggravation, getting blood on the man's jacket. He didn't want anyone's help at the moment. He just wanted to get his wits about him as the anger spike made the blood on his side flow more freely. "I tried! With you, with him, and almost with him."

"No need to be dramatic," Porthos admonished, helping him to standing.

d'Artagnan growled.

"How did he know?" Athos pointed to the leader of the attackers.

In the meantime, Athos got the criminal to standing, still tied up, which limited his movements to ridiculous jumping.

"I gave it to him. Are you telling me you didn't know?" The bandit scoffed. He turned with a hop. "What are you, blind? I told everything to some stupid musketeers."

"Shut up!" Aramis, Athos ,and Porthos yelled in return.

The man spat. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't die."

Athos replied by punching the man in the jaw, allowing him to fall to the ground with a thump.

"Well, that's effective," Aramis quipped, gesturing for Porthos to guide d'Artagnan to sit against the vacated tree.

Aramis lifted the shirt and adjusted the top of d'Artagnan's pants away from the slice. "I can stitch this up here or, since d'Artagnan has been so patient, wait until we get to the next town? That would be a better situation. It may be troublesome to be on a horse."

They were now hyper-concerned and sensitive. d'Artagnan rolled his eyes as Athos talked over his head to Aramis. "He's lost blood. . ."

"I will bind it." Aramis accepted his saddle bags from Porthos.

"Uh, I'm still here," d'Artagnan interrupted. He found this amusing as they focused on their tasks at hand, first with dealing with the bandits, now with his injury. He wished they could just whisk away to Paris.

"d'Artagnan? Are you in pain?" Aramis's hand went to the Gascon's forehead. "He doesn't feel warm."

The Gascon batted the hand away. He felt the eyes of his friends on him. "I'm sorry. I think you didn't expect anyone to be injured in the skirmish."

Athos crouched down. "We should have known or asked."

"There was this time when we were attacked by two men and the bullet found me," Porthos explained with a hand going to his arm. "No one else was injured. I wish someone else had been hurt. Right embarrassing . . . sorry."

Aramis packed the wound, giving a cooling gaze to Porthos. "Are you well enough to ride?"

d'Artagnan winced. "I can do it." He sighed.

Athos gave a half smile. "You're going to make us feel very guilty aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

Aramis helped him to stand after he finished wrapping the wound. "You're becoming devious. A good trait for a musketeer."

Porthos laughed in response. "I feel guilty, so it's working. I may have to buy the lad a dinner."

"A bottle of wine, too," d'Artagnan added.

Athos's eyebrows rose. "You seem to be embracing our guilty consciences."

"I approve." Aramis shadowed d'Artagnan. "As the one who will stitch you, I feel that I am absolved."

The Gascon nodded, it was not good to rile Aramis before stitching.

The forgotten leader started to groan. Athos kicked him in response, nodding towards d'Artagnan. "He needs to be gagged."

The young musketeer appreciated Athos's gesture of the kick to the man who had injured him. "Some help?" He needed assistance to get on the horse, and three sets of hands reached out.

The end.


	7. Singed Home

Singed Home

By: Tidia

Beta: That Girl Six

Written for: That Girl Six

Notes: This story was inspired by The Hundred Foot Journey (if you have seen the movie, then you know the scene). Also, That Girl Six has been gracious about betaing and wanting me to be more descriptive. I whined that I wanted to have fun, but figured for her I would write this. Tadaa. Enjoy!

* * *

Walking the streets of Paris late at night, d'Artagnan reveled in the quietness of the darkened streets. Candlelight was intermittent, flickering in the windows of taverns, some inns and guest houses. It was enough to make Paris seem as if d'Artagnan was viewing it through a veil.

d'Artagnan was becoming accustomed to the scents of food, people and waste that was prominent in Paris as was the perfume that tried to cover it all. Still, he was not lulled into believing Paris at night was safe so he kept his gloved hand on his rapier. He was a musketeer, alert and ready even after a few drinks with Porthos, Athos and Aramis at the _Les Anysetiers du Roy._

He had begged off staying later, excusing himself once Aramis had absconded with one of the serving maids. Porthos had tried pushing a willing mademoiselle towards him, but she had cozied to the larger man. Athos had only raised a brow and his glass. He had promised to leave once the cup was finished.

d'Artagnan believed him. Since Milady had disappeared, Athos had tamed his drinking habits. It was rare it was to excess. So Athos would return to his rooms, Aramis would find respite with the maid, Porthos too with his woman while d'Artagnan returned to the garrison, taking a route to avoid the rue of the Bonaciuex home.

He had been with other women since Constance's decision, but her red hair still held him spellbound. d'Artagnan concentrated on his footsteps on the uneven cobblestones, then made eye contact with a passerby to judge if they were up to nefarious deeds. All was still well.

As he neared the garrison, there was usually more life in the square due to the nature of the garrison. It was guarded, and musketeers could be called by the palace at any time. d'Artagnan narrowed his eyes, looking for Etienne and Jean. Not seeing them could have meant they were making a patrol of the area.

The Gascon rubbed a gloved hand under his nose as he caught a different scent of smoke. He hurried his pace, going into a run coming to the front gate of the garrison. The momentum of his pace slipped into a slide next to Etienne crumpled on the ground.

A few pats on the face elicited a moan, which relaxed d'Artagnan, except the smell of smoke was stronger. He looked through the gates to see the source of brilliant flames licking through the balcony seeking to spread unhindered.

"Fire!" he yelled as he unhooked his musketeer cloak, readying to beat the flames. "Fire! Fire!"

The heat greeted him, warming his skin too fast, making him feel he had gotten too close to the blacksmith's work. It was breathless work to lift his cloak to beat back the flames as smoke was left in the wake of each stamped out flame.

The garrison came alive, enough that the balcony was getting weight on it. The creaking sound made d'Artagnan look up. He took a step back as the distraction allowed the flames to momentarily best him, nipping his exposed cuffs along with wood brace above him. Folding his cloak he aimed it at the intruding orange weaving its way in the upper floor boards so that parts were breaking off as embers rained down on him.

"d'Artagnan!"

He turned into a bucket of water splashing on his side above where his rapier sat on his waist. Where there had once been unnoticed flames was the smell of leather and a sooty shirt with a blackened hole with reddened skin peaking through.

"Your hands." Luc grabbed him, making d'Artagnan stumble on the hard packed earth until he was pushed into the water trough nearby, his upper body getting drenched, causing a ripple of a shiver to shake through him. Luc pulled him out of the water as d'Artagnan couldn't get purchase with his hands, then left him to attack the flames.

His hands screamed in searing pain, straining against the gloves. d'Artagnan fell to the side of the trough, his face skimming the rough wood with a sting, but he was determined with his teeth to remove the gloves. He bit into the looseness of his index finger, tasting over-cooked meat and smoke. He struggled with a muffled scream, moving the glove only slightly. It was enough to whiten the world.

((()))

In Athos's dream there was a pounding noise of someone running away, alone on the street so the sound echoed on the cobblestones. There was a need to follow to see where it led to save the person from the threat.

"Athos."

He stopped following the noise to listen. Was he being tempted to go in a different direction? To safety? Towards the threat? The rhythm changed-it was more uneven than the tempo and pace of running feet.

"Wake up! Treville has sent me!"

For a moment, although his eyes were open he could not tell if he was sleeping or awake. The knocking made him come to awareness in haste, leaving behind the dream fugue. Athos did not call out, instead padding to the door.

"For God's sake…" the person outside grumbled until Athos opened the door slightly to see a musketeer he recognized. "Finally," Luc sighed, sticking his foot in the door, bringing with him a waft of smoke and singe.

Athos was not given a chance to speak, though in the early morning hours his mind was working, but his mouth was not. He grunted.

"Come quickly to the garrison. There's been a fire. Find Aramis and Porthos if you can." Luc did not wait for an answer; he backed away, then turned to rush along the street.

Well practiced in dressing quickly, Athos propelled himself only moments behind Luc in the crisp Paris morning still cool enough to bring him fully to waking. What had happened at the garrison?

This time of the morning brought in the fragrance of bakeries, bread and pastries in warm ovens preparing for customers' needs. It was calming for Athos, who was not one to be tempted by sweets or even breakfast. It meant the world was coming alive at a chance for renewal.

Athos had no idea how to find Porthos and Aramis, still he looked around for signs as he made his way to the garrison. As he neared the square the pungent odor of smoke was strong, and there were more blue cloaks than usual around the perimeter.

Another musketeer, Hubert, joined him coming from the other side to meet Athos. "The garrison was attacked. Someone set a fire, getting past Etienne and Jean."

"Have they been caught?" To desecrate the home of the musketeers was a travesty.

"Etienne gave a description, so Treville sent out guards to watch the roads. They'll be caught." Hubert escorted him to the entrance of the gate. The closer Athos got to the damage the more a scent of roasted pig assaulted him. It permeated the air never to be diminished or carried away by the wind.

Usually there were a few musketeers milling about in the morning, but it seemed as though most of the regiment was present with Treville leading them to clear away charred wood. "Secure those stairs." The balcony had a gaping hole surrounded by wood planks that had shriveled and blackened. The structure was frail.

"Captain," Athos announced himself to the leader.

Treville gestured for the musketeers to continue their work. Athos followed his captain, his rigid posture unrevealing. "The physician has just left," Treville said as he opened the door to a room.

Covered with a white sheet, lying on the bed asleep was d'Artagnan. His hands were out, blanketed by an enormous amount of bandages. Athos dragged a chair over, taking a seat by the bed. "Just his hands?"

Treville lifted the sheet to show the other bandage around d'Artagnan's torso. "A bit on his side."

"What did the physician say?" Athos stared at his protégé.

"To keep the burns cleaned, let them heal." Treville clasped his hands behind his back. "He helped fight back the fire, called out the warning."

"You'll tell Aramis and Porthos when they arrive at the garrison where to find us?" Athos didn't take his eyes off d'Artagnan. This was a drugged sleep. Athos's eyes drifted to the table with the tincture of poppy.

Treville left them, closing the door with barely a sound.

"No training for a while, my friend." Athos kept his hands to himself, clenching them in sympathy. "You'll even need help with a spoon and knife."

((()))

d'Artagnan refused to leave his room at first, never for meals so worried was he by the looks of pity from the other musketeers. The first concession he made was evening walks with the three other men as escorts. No one was allowed near d'Artagnan so he would not be jostled. The walks also served to tire him out.

"Let them soak." The water was salted, stinging the blisters, pink and swollen skin, but d'Artagnan settled per Aramis's request. "It could be worse."

What was worse than grotesque and useless hands? d'Artagnan wondered as he looked away from his injury. "Hmmm."

"The blisters protect the other skin, helping it to heal." Aramis lifted d'Artagnan's hands from the bath, gently wrapping them in soft cloths to dry them. There were many small water-filled sacks littered across his hands. On the right hand there was a large blister which took up his thumb going down to his wrist. It pulled his skin taut to look transparent. The left had fluid on the top part of his hand in the center. His fingers on both hands were puffed and swollen.

"Can we leave them unwrapped so I can eat?"

Aramis turned his hands palm up to show the raised blotches. Between the blisters and swelling he was unable to make a fist. "Not yet." The medic applied the honey with light a touch on the burns.

d'Artagnan willed the blisters to pop, release slightly so he would have more movement. In the meantime, Aramis's ministrations were uncomfortable, bringing back d'Artagnan's attention to the perpetual throbbing and heat, which felt hot enough to catch on to kindling.

Porthos lay a hand on his shoulder as he tried to pull his hand away to find less pain. "They're disgusting. Wait until they heal so the rest of us can enjoy our meals."

This forced d'Artagnan back to retreat to his morose mood and self-inflicted exile, which was not meant to be when Athos entered without knocking. d'Artagnan had lost the dignity of privacy-he needed help to dress, to eat, and to open a door.

"You've been asked to be on parade duty," Athos announced, taking in the sight of d'Artagnan's burnt hands as Aramis commenced his wrappings.

"Why?" d'Artagnan had lost patience after five days, in turn having a more prickly nature.

"Can you manage it?"

"I can ride without my hands." The Gascon answered Porthos, but remained silent about needing assistance on mounting the horse, promising himself not to ask. There was another way, and this would not defeat him.

"Surely, the king did not request d'Artagnan specifically?" Aramis tied off the bandages on the right.

"He did. Something to the effect of even injured his musketeers are loyal to him."

d'Artagnan picked up his stark white bandaged hand, glaring in its noticeability. "I'm to be on parade."

"This adds a little excitement, eh?" Porthos shrugged his shoulders, seeking to find some humor in the situation. It failed when d'Artagnan gasped. "Right. I'm going to get us some dinner. A baguette for you, lad?"

The Gascon glared at the larger musketeer with a pointed look. This was not amusing. After two days of being fed, Porthos stumbled upon a solution by putting meat in a baguette; d'Artagnan could manage the bulky bread in between his hands. It was still awkward, along with drinking from a bowl instead of a cup. Yet, it could have been worse.

((()))

"I am sorry."

Aramis did not ask what d'Artagnan was apologizing for-bad humor, lack of patience, needing his friends, but each time he acknowledged it. "There is nothing to be sorry for. It's easy enough to help you with your boots and cape." Aramis had the discretion not to mention pants, shirt, belt, rapier and musket.

"Are you in pain?"

"It's tolerable." d'Artagnan could only look straight ahead as his cape was tied.

Aramis did not press. "You look quite dashing."

They exited with d'Artagnan setting his hands back so they were covered by the folds of his blue cloak.

Porthos was holding the Gascon's horse steady. "Do you need help?"

There was a look of determination on d'Artagnan's face. He had obviously been contemplating this situation as he placed his foot in the stirrup then hooked his elbow on the horn, bringing himself to the saddle.

"Well done," Athos complimented.

Unfortunately for Porthos there was a lack of excitement as he complained repeatedly by Aramis's side. The king had beamed a smile at the young musketeer, then needled the cardinal throughout the route as if the man did not detest them enough.

As usual Aramis avoided the queen, but her closeness still stirred intimacy. Athos's eyes lingered upon him as if he could read his mind. "Perhaps we can ask Treville to do a patrol on the countryside?" Unsaid was that it was for the boy. The fresh air away from the garrison would be a boon.

Athos acknowledged the idea and would insure that it was an order from their Captain.

((()))

Hubert greeted them upon their arrival. "The arsonists have been found and sent to the chatelet."

Porthos growled in response. Truly, he had wanted to exact some vengeance on those who dared try to turn his home into ash.

"Did they work alone?"

Athos was always looking for more information, but if there were more involved then it at least gave Porthos another chance to quell his anger.

Hubert nodded. "Treville's been waiting for you."

They retired to d'Artagnan's room, Aramis already having gathered his supplies to change the dressings.

"I think they are looking better, and the blister on your thumb has no fluid," Aramis said, looking pleased at the pink skin with white edges determined to be a scar.

Scars did not bother Porthos, not when he wore one on his face. He wondered if d'Artagnan would care. No one had talked about the marks that would remain. "I think the lad actually is grinning."

"He thinks he will be able to pick up a sword soon."

"Soon enough," d'Artagnan replied to Athos. "Along with a musket with Aramis and wrestling with Porthos." The Gascon was eager.

Porthos laughed a deep chuckle which sent him to sitting. It was an infrequent carefree moment. They were musketeers and the fighting whether with their hands, muskets or rapiers was a need that needed to be satisfied. It didn't make them a bloodthirsty lot, but men with a purpose to defend.

The end


End file.
